bribery (and other effective means of persuasion)
by madworlds
Summary: In which Laura has work to do and Carmilla's music is about as obnoxious as she is. / Hollstein living-across-from-each-other AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For day six of Caesar's Palace shipping week. Living across from each other AU. (Also is there a record for the amount of references in a less than 500 word fic, and have I broken it, because oops.)**

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It's 9:59PM on a Tuesday night, and Laura Hollis is about a door and three pages away from a meltdown. The pages are because she's got a long submission due for her work tomorrow, and it's only around 60% complete because in an entirely predictable turn of procrastination, Laura binged Grey's Anatomy instead of finishing it over the weekend. The door is only in the equation because it leads to an apartment adjacent to hers. She's never met the resident, but she – and probably the entire rest of the building – feels as if she knows them far too well from only their music taste. The music is loud and obnoxious and goes on until the early hours of the morning, and Laura really should have made a noise complaint some time _earlier_ than the night before her work's due.

Just as Laura's about to call it quits and go off to dig her earbuds out of storage, the door unlocks and – finally – swings open. Leaning against the doorframe is the elusive floor-mate, a girl about Laura's age and height, with dark curling hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut.

She's also not wearing pants. Laura looks down inadvertently, sees underwear dark against an expanse of pale skin, and jerks her eyes up, _fast._ The girl is smirking openly at her now.

"Hi," Laura says. She swallows fast and fights the blush that threatens to rise. "I'm Laura."

"Hey." The girl is still looking far too amused for someone half-clothed. "Carmilla," she adds when Laura doesn't answer.

"We're neighbours. I live–" Laura gestures vaguely down the hall.

"Yeah?" The picture of complete disinterest, Carmilla inspects her nails and picks idly at a cuticle.

"And okay, so I work in investigative journalism, and this is sort of a busy time …"

"As much as I'm interested in hearing about your career, Lois Lane, I'm kinda busy here." Carmilla sounds anything but interested, and there are clothes strewn on the floor behind her, which, no. Laura stops looking. "Was there something in particular you needed?"

"Uh," Laura says eloquently, still carefully not-looking at the clothes. "Yeah. I've got heaps of work to do for tomorrow, and I was– hoping you'd turn the music down?" She's now also hoping the pounding drumbeat won't be replaced by something ... else, which was not a concern she'd had coming into this. Ugh.

Carmilla rolls her head to the side, stretching her neck and managing to look even more disinterested. "And why exactly would I do that, creampuff?"

"Because," Laura starts, then sighs. "God, I don't know – I have to get this crap done? And," she adds, because it's late and she's not above bribery and other forms of corruption after 10PM, "I make really good cookies when I'm not stressed over work?"

Carmilla lets out a burst of laughter, fast and sharp as if it's been shocked it from her. "You're going to _bake_ for me if I turn the music off?"

It does sound ridiculous when she puts it like that.

"Well," Laura starts, because she's obviously already lost and it's not as if she can improve the situation at all. Might as well go all out. "The offer's there."

"I would have picked you for a stress baker, cupcake." She shrugs. "But, yeah, sure. I mean, I can manage without it for one night."

"Really?" Laura says, the note of sarcasm evident in her voice. Then, remembering what the other girl's just agreed to, "I mean, uh, thanks?"

Carmilla smirks, not taking the bait. "Good luck with your report, Lauronica Mars." She winks, then shuts the door in Laura's face.

(But the low sound of the music she'd turned down to talk is shut off abruptly, and it doesn't turn on again for the rest of the night.)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Twenty minutes of stress and this is the result. I am so sorry. For day seven of Caesar's Palace shipping week.

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It's 7:54AM on Thursday and Laura is almost 100% work-free. She's also entirely caught up on three seasons of her favourite show and she's been baking a fairly excessive amount, the results of which are probably going to be obvious when she heads to work. Danny, a girl who works a few desks down from her, has banned her at least three times from taking sugar – "I can't _concentrate_ when you're hyperactive, Hollis" – into the office, but, well, it's too bad for Danny, because it's not _Laura's_ fault she works better on a sugar high.

The baking has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the attractive neighbour, of course. But all the same, before Laura leaves in the morning she heads the opposite way down the hall and knocks once before she slides a note under a certain door. _I hope you're fine with chocolate-chip_ , it reads.

When she gets back in the evening and is digging in her pocket for the ever-elusive apartment key, Laura looks down and spots the newly-torn corner of a familiar piece of paper just barely visible from underneath her door. It's the same one she'd pushed under Carmilla's door earlier. Underneath her own message, the other girl has scribbled, _What is this, middle-school?_ There's no way for her to convey sarcasm through her handwriting, but somehow the message comes through loud and clear. And then, right at the bottom like a grudging afterthought, _I'm fine with almost anything, cupcake_.

Laura fronts up to her apartment and presents her with cookies later that night. Carmilla takes one look at the box in her hands and raises both eyebrows so far that they almost get lost in her hairline, but she shrugs, half-laughing, and lets Laura in anyway.

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End file.
